True Nature
by Elianara
Summary: Omegaverse. John Watson had no shame about his biology but no reverence for it either. He was an omega, he got on with it, end of story. If only Sherlock Holmes could make peace with being an alpha.
1. Chapter 1

True Nature

_A/N This is a first attempt at Omegaverse (which I've only started reading in the last couple of weeks) so I'd really appreciate any feedback. Thanks for reading._

John Watson had no shame about his biology but no reverence for it either. He was an omega, he got on with it, end of story.

Heat suppressants were mandatory during combat tours in the army and he had kept using them after his discharge but every now and then he let a few heats happen naturally. Not so many that his whole life was dictated by them but enough to satisfy himself that his demanding diva of an omega reproductive system was still working because one day soon he just might want to bond, have a family.

Today though was not that day. He was methodically packing a bag to go and spend this heat as he had the last. With Lieutenant Billy Scott, an unbonded alpha he knew from his last tour. A younger man, who had no interest in bonding until his career was established and was more than keen to help John out with his heats. It was a good arrangement, they spent a few days in his flat shagging like rabbits and then parted with a hug. It was simple, honest. It wasn't what he wanted to do forever but for now it did him very well thank you very much.

Things generally had taken a turn for the better in the last few months following a rough spell after he left the army. He was getting regular locum work and was in a decent enough flat for the rent he was paying. Then there was his flatmate. The eccentric 'consulting detective' and his work kept John's life interesting, that is to say, just dangerous enough. More than that, Sherlock seemed to find sex, procreation and therefore John's omega status unspeakably dull - which made things easier.

Packing complete, John wrote a note to Sherlock, treble underlining BUY MILK, before sticking it to the fridge. He picked up his bag and keys and he headed for the door just as it was flung open. Sherlock looked like he'd been dragged through a hedge, literally. His precious coat was filthy and fragments of dead leaves were tangled in his hair.

' John, thought you'd be gone. You didn't miss much, barely a three.'

' You're bleeding. What happened?'

'Just bushes.' He said dismissively, shedding his coat and suit jacket to check for damage.

'Bushes with Stanley knives? This one looks like it needs stitches.' John had gone into medical mode, heat almost forgotten, as he gently prodded around a nasty gash on Sherlock's forearm.

'I'll get my kit and patch you up.' John dropped his bag at the door.

'Don't you need to...I mean, aren't you in a hurry ..?' Sherlock broke off awkwardly - actually blushing.

'Don't you start going all embarrassed on me. I get enough of that at work. Treating me like some delicate flower. I've got time.' John said, opening his medical bag.

'Besides it's not so bad the way I do it- heat. Getting shagged silly for a few days by a good looking soldier- much better than silicone.' He looked for a scandalized reaction from the detective as he laid out supplies, but his voice seemed to have barely registered-as usual. John knew he was more forthright than most omegas who were brought up to be pretty much ashamed of their heats.

He had Sherlock sit on a dining chair beside him. The injured arm resting on the table as he cleaned it. It wasn't as bad as he'd thought once the mud was gone and all that was needed was a proper clean and a bandage. As he worked he became aware of a faint scent, a scent that had to be from the last time Lestrade visited. The alpha policeman smelled lovely and John put it down to his heat because he'd never really noticed Lestrade in that way before.

It took a further few seconds for John to realise two things. One, Lestrade hadn't been to the flat in weeks and two the scent got stronger the more he leaned into Sherlock, which he was doing unconsciously, his head far closer than medically necessary to Sherlock's chest.

All at once John had kicked away his chair and backed into the wall, raw instinct moving him quickly. He stared at the detective, fingers curling into the paintwork.

'I'm not what you might call active.' Sherlock said calmly, standing and carefully moving towards the window. He appeared to be giving the, now frightened, omega space and access to the door. John made no attempt to leave.

He had long assumed the detective was a beta, an unusually arrogant one, but a beta nonetheless. They had never talked about it, but he'd had no scent, until now.

'How can you be around me and not be...you know.' John ran his eyes down Sherlock's body but there was no sign of arousal.

'Suppressant, I developed it myself. I missed an injection yesterday. The side effects are rather unpleasant, nausea and so on. I sometimes miss a dose, while I'm working. I don't feel it myself but the lower levels are obviously affecting my scent, especially with your approaching heat.' Sherlock stayed perfectly still.

' It's faint but-getting stronger.' John said chewing his lip but relaxing slightly. A hostile alpha would have cornered him by now- well, they would have tried. He'd seen off more than his fair share in the army.

'I assure you, you are having no effect on me. Can we sit?' Sherlock gestured towards the fireplace. They skirted the edges of the room before sitting in their respective chairs.

'Why would you want to suppress being an alpha?' John could not understand this for a second. He had made peace with his own body's complications-but to be an alpha. The control, dominance, a whole society that revolved around your need to breed.

Sherlock sat back in his chair, his body language neutral. ' In a word- distraction. Trying to think with the constant bombardment of smell- it's like trying to read in a crowded train carriage with a dozen conversations going on around you. Who's just had a heat, who's about to have one-_dull_. I don't know how other alphas stand it- or omegas for that matter. I decided quite young I'd rather have a clear head.'

'That simple?' John laughed in astonishment.

'You don't feel any urge-at all?'

The detective sighed as if the whole topic bored him. 'I get erections occasionally if that's what you mean.'

That had not been what John meant. Now though, he was imagining how Sherlock would look, arousal darkening his striking eyes and staining his skin. That ghost of delicious scent at full strength. It was all he could do not to cross the room and climb into the alpha' s lap. His traitorous omega body ready to lie down and open up- any urgency to leave gone.

_Hormones John just hormones. _

He became aware of Sherlock studying him closely and he suddenly realised this heat was much further along than he thought, no doubt progressed by his flatmate's pheromones. His skin prickled and burned and he could feel the beginnings of an empty ache, almost like a hunger, that he knew would scarcely leave him for days.

'It probably is time for you to go. I'll call you a cab.' The detective stood and John became aware that he was standing too, a few scant feet from his flatmate.

John's limbs would barely cooperate as Sherlock saw him downstairs and into the cab. He let the omega rest against his shoulder as he chaperoned him across the city.

It would only be a few days later, as John let the blissful steam of a hot shower clear the last chemical vestiges of heat from his brain that he would remember. Sherlock. The alpha' s slim body trapped between John and the wall of the deserted lobby in Billy Scott's building. John couldn't remember how they'd got there or what he said, typical heat stuff probably, telling Sherlock how wet he was, begging to be knotted- _now_. He did remember the look of utter panic on Sherlock's face before he firmly took John's arm and led him to the other alpha' s door.

_Thanks again for reading. I think this will be about five chapters. I've got 2 pretty much done so hopefully I will post this on Friday._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N : Thanks to everyone who's read and is following this story. This update has been unforgivably slow. I had two weeks of broken intetnet followed by well, Christmas- so here we are. I will try to do better – honest. _

Sherlock stalked around the crime scene, crouching to examine something now and then, occasionally returning Donovan's glare.

He had solved it within minutes of seeing the body, his wife had killed him (dull) though she had moved the body to the building site the deceased worked on with the help of her lover, confusing the issue (pathetically slightly) by staging the most appalling fake fall he'd ever seen.

Barely a four and if the pathologist hadn't trampled the scene like the moron he was it would have been a three. It wasn't worth his time really but he was grateful for anything that provided the slightest distraction. Even Mycroft was no help at the moment, off fixing some mess or other in the far east.

John's words as he had pressed against him, a needy, glorious mess played back breathlessly in his head.

_ 'Tell me you don't want this.'_

When they had talked in the flat he had barely been aware of John's scent. By the time he had seen him safely to the other alpha's door he was drowning in it. Chemically speaking, it must have been some sort of pheromone feedback loop, exacerbated by the confined space in the cab, his suppressant wearing off. He understood the mechanism but still couldn't help being pulled under by it. He had wanted to ask the driver, an already disgusted beta, to turn around and take them back to Baker Street. To take John into his bed and do whatever it took to give him relief and pleasure. The relief and pleasure he was now getting from someone else. A proper, dominant, experienced alpha. He forced his mind back to the case, such as it was.

Unable to spin things out any longer, he launched into the usual quick fire explanation, adding in a few dramatic touches for the benefit of two uniforms, who were staring at him starstruck and Donovan who (to his satisfaction) looked as if she was close to hitting him.

Ten minutes later Lestrade was walking him out through the cordoned off site. He had hoped the case would occupy him for hours or, better still, days but now he had no reason not to go home where he knew that he was likely to lie on the sofa with John's forgotten (wonderful smelling) scarf bundled on his chest. The same way he'd spent the last two days.

As they walked through the half-finished building he answered a question from Lestrade about John's whereabouts with a blush and fumbled words. Grateful when the Inspector started to describe a particularly gory cold case he was working on as a way to cover the awkwardness. It was just getting interesting when they both heard the flap of heavy polyethylene. They looked at each other for a second- the day was windless-before Sherlock took off in the direction of the noise. Lestrade following behind, shouting into his radio.

|Sherlock soon caught sight of a young man running for the nearest exit down a narrow passage in the scaffolding. He made after him deducing as he went. The lover. A gym-maintained physique, probably how they met. No suggestion of martial arts or combat training-good to know in these circumstances. They quickly ran out of passage. The man faced Sherlock.

'You police?' He panted. Sherlock took his time with the reply. He could hear Lestrade and at least four others moving closer.

'Not really.' Sherlock noted the brick in the man's hand and could practically hear the wheels turning in his head as panic set in.

When he moved Sherlock was ready for him ,dodging the brick and kicking a half empty bag of plaster into his path, Lestrade and two uniforms now visible through the dust cloud.

That was when he overbalanced. The hand he put out to steady himself meeting yielding polythene rather than the solid wall he'd expected. He fell inelegantly through the hole, feet scrabbling for solid ground that was too far away. His leg was a sudden mass of agony, the crunch of bone breaking reverberating through him as the rest of his body flopped heavily to the ground.

_Mortified._

There was no other word to describe how John felt as he unlocked the front door and quietly climbed the stairs, steeling himself to face Sherlock. It had been heat stuff. He couldn't help it, very possibly wasn't even remembering a lot of it (thank God) but he still wanted to crawl under a rock in embarrassment.

He knew he should, first and foremost, be livid with the detective, hiding what he was. John also knew it was pointless. Sherlock just wasn't wired like everyone else, probably didnt even see the issue. He had, however, made _very_ clear there wasn't some plan to have his wicked way with John.

_More was the pity._

He shook the thought away as he opened the flat door. It was mercifully empty and smelled of pine floor cleaner, Mrs Hudson's calling card. He dropped his bag and flopped into his chair.

He had spent most of the more lucid parts of his heat vaguely fantasizing about the detective. There was something in the way he handled the violin, the intensity he brought to his work. Something that had been compelling since they'd met but now, with biological compatibility in the mix, was a lot more complicated.

He knew that Sherlock, even if he was interested in omegas, would be out of his league. Sherlock Holmes would doubtless want someone younger, prettier, with bluer blood and maybe even a nice trust fund to supplement his own. He would have no use for a pensioned army veteran with a bad leg.

His thoughts were interrupted by the door.

'Oh John you're home didn't Greg get you?' Mrs Hudson bustled in, a pair of Sherlock's pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt draped over one arm.

'What's wrong?' John said. The landlady didn't usually touch their stuff.

'He's only broken his bloody ankle. Fell through a wall chasing a murderer.'

'Of course he did.' John said dryly, another one of Sherlock's nine lives gone.

'You know what he's like. Racing about, no food no sleep. Violin at all hours. I'm going to take his pyjamas and things in at visiting. Better look lively, I'll need to get a cab in half an hour. You'll come won't you?' She said, making for the bathroom.

'Yeah of course.' John said reluctantly. He didn't particularly want his first conversation with Sherlock after _everything_ to be in front of an audience. Then again he didn't want to face him alone.

'Why are they keeping him in?' John asked doing a quick inventory of the kitchen, no sign of much having been eaten while he was gone. No milk bought either.

'Something to do with his blood tests.' Mrs Hudson said, putting shampoo and the pyjamas into an overnight bag.

'He didn't say much. Meet me downstairs when you're ready.'

John shook off the post-heat urge to sleep and tried to think if there was anything else he could usefully take to the detective in hospital. He gathered a couple of issues of a forensics journal and a cold case file Lestrade had given Sherlock before going downstairs.

Sherlock had a good sized private room. Whether this was Mycroft pulling strings from a distance or the nurses pissed off with him deducing staff and patients alike every five minutes wasn't clear. John couldn't decide if he was grateful for the privacy or not.

There were two typically uncomfortable hospital chairs at the side of his bed and John let Mrs Hudson take the one nearest his head. The landlady chattered about about new carpet and the state of the fridge for a solid fifteen minutes. He avoided Sherlock's gaze and the detective avoided his.

It was a relief when Lestrade turned up halfway through and John could give up his chair under the pretence of going and seeing someone he knew from medical school. He came back ten minutes later to find Lestrade helping Mrs Hudson into her coat.

'I'll give you both a lift back if you want to leave now, I need to go back to the Yard to sign off on something.' Greg said.

'I'll stay till the end of visiting, there's a couple of other people I should go and see while I'm here anyway.' John lied through his teeth. He needed to at least try and clear the air.

Mrs Hudson made an unappreciated fuss of Sherlock, kissing him on the forehead, and they left. John awkwardly circled the room, pausing to take in the fine view of the loading bay from the window before the silence was broken by an exasperated sigh from the detective.

'For God's sake John sit down.'

John came to sit, in the closer chair this time, resting his folded hands on the edge of the bed. 'Look, I'm sorry. I know I must have been a bloody nightmare, especially for, well, someone like you. Next time I'll make sure I'm well gone out of the flat before I'm anywhere close to starting...'

'It's fine.' The detective broke in. 'No reason why you should have to leave home just to make me more comfortable.'

'Now, ask me about the case.' Sherlock said, shuffling himself up the bed. They neatly avoided any further mention of heat or related subjects for the next ten minutes. Sherlock describing the murder in great detail, obviously unimpressed by the whole business. John, happy the awkwardness seemed to have gone, flicked through one of the journals he had brought, looking for a relevant bit on fall injuries he had read. When he looked up the detective had dosed off, his mouth slightly open, his face softened by sleep. John instinctively adjusted his pillows and blankets as best he could without waking him.

There was only ten minutes of visiting left and John knew he should really go but sitting so close he was drawn to Sherlock's scent all over again. Post heat it soothed rather than inflamed and he felt his own drowsiness catching up with him. He rested, just for a second, on the scratchy blanket, his head pillowed on his arms next to the detective, somehow ridiculously comfortable.

'Dr Watson?' The voice penetrated the fog of sleep.

'You're a bit past visiting I'm afraid.'

John rubbed his hand over his face and looked round at a pretty blonde female omega. Hands shoved deep in the pockets of her lab coat.

'Sorry-I must have dosed off.' He sat up everything was stiff, he was embarrassed to note he had been resting against Sherlock's leg but the detective slept on oblivious. 'No problem, that's the longest he's slept since he got here, he's been driving the nurses batty. Besides, I wanted to talk to you. I'm Dr Sloan.'

She jerked her head towards the corridor. John followed, stretching his spine as they went into the relatives room opposite.

The room was fairly cheerful as these places go, the air faintly perfumed with a bunch of carnations in a vase. The doctor sat on the small sofa and looked at her notes.

'Can I ask what you are to each other?' She smiled pleasantly, professionally.

'He's my flatmate. We've lived together about four months I think.' The doctor looked surprised and scribbled something.

'Well, the thing is his brother asked that you be treated as next of kin in his absence.' She raised her eyes and read John's blank expression.

'First I've heard of it, though Mycroft does like to delegate. I did wonder why he was kept in?' John asked.

'I'm guessing this may be the first of you've heard of this too but he's being transferred tomorrow to a private clinic. Armadale House it treats drug problems mostly, though that isn't his problem this time. How much do you know about alpha suppressant?'

'Very little, I know he was taking it, told me he developed it himself.'

' Something similar gets used in the prison service, a last resort for very violent alphas. They keep it quiet for obvious reasons. The stuff he's been taking is probably a bit more refined but we have to assume he'll still get some of the side effects.'

'He did mention dizziness and nausea.'

' Good chance that's how he fell. At the moment we're more worried about the way it can inhibit healing. He needs to come off it to let his ankle heal – hence the rehab.'

'So you're saying he has to be committed to come off suppressant? Seems a bit drastic. Is this Mycroft?' Sherlock's brother could interfere for Britain (Come to think of it, that's sort of what he did for a living.) but this was extreme even for him.

'Dr Watson, this is all Sherlock himself. I think...' The Doctor looked at him awkwardly. 'I think his brother may have requested you as next of kin because he thinks you could help.' She finished.

Suddenly the penny dropped with John. Mycroft thought John would be a compliant omega the catch-all solution to any alpha hormone problem according to some people- no wonder Mycroft had offered him so much money when he had moved in with Sherlock at first.

'You're suggesting what, I become his fuck-buddy?' The irritation in John's voice was obvious.

Dr Sloan blushed and rolled her eyes. 'Hardly Dr Watson. How far off a heat are you?'

'Just finished, early hours of this morning.'

'Ideal, your pheromones should be mostly calming. All I'm suggesting is you take him home sit with him. Maybe sleep in the same room.' In John's exhausted state Dr Sloan seemed irritatingly cool.

'You think that's all it will take? He was unconvinced.

'Look I'm not saying he won't get – _twitchy_ – but he's going to be hobbling about for the next couple of weeks, full of painkillers. You look like you can handle it. You do trust him don't you? I mean you looked close earlier.'

'Of course I trust him.' John said simply, convinced of that at least.

'When can I take him home?'


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for the follows/favourites/reviews. Apologies to anyone who read the last chapter in the first few hours after it was initially posted - the formatting in the last section seemed to be doing it's own thing - thanks to _Wolf in shes_****_ clothing_**** for tactfully pointing it out.**

**_Are you sure? SH_**

**_I'm sure. Pick you up at 2. JW_**

John responded with a confidence he didn't feel as he sipped his tea and clicked on another link. He had started on this research as an afterthought but was now wishing he hadn't bothered. That is, if trawling the web for forum posts counted as research, it wasn't exactly the BMJ. He knew he was homing in on the worst aspects of alpha suppressant but still, aggression, agitation and 'bizarre personality changes' were regularly reported. It didn't help that Sherlock's personality could charitably be described as eccentric at the best if times. John decisively closed the browser and snapped the laptop shut.

Practically speaking at least, he was organised and the soldier in him took comfort in that. He had moved the sofa into Sherlock's room and made it up as a bed with the help of a bemused Mrs Hudson (who had always assumed they were a couple and refused to be persuaded differently). He had gone out early to stock up on the sort of thing he thought Sherlock should be eating (vegetables, chicken) and the sort of thing he would eat even if he was being awkward (essentially posh biscuits). He had tidied extensively, moving the numerous trip hazards around the flat. Hopefully Sherlock wouldn't even notice that the piles of 'research' had been merged.

Finally he had spent a good half an hour rearranging the area around Sherlock's chair so that everything he could want was within easy reach. It was such a nurturing, such an _omega_ thing to do he annoyed himself.

The only thing left was to tell Mycroft. He quickly fired off a text and within seconds his phone was vibrating with an unknown number.

'John, just wanted to let you know it's much appreciated.' There was a creak in the background and John imagined Mycroft leaning back in a heavy leather chair in some far flung outpost of the Diogenes Club.

' I'm not doing it for you Mycroft.' There was something about the older Holmes that rubbed John the wrong way.

'Regardless, the idea of him going back to that place.' John could practically hear Mycroft's face contort into twisted distaste. Though he could well see his point. It couldn't be a good idea to put a vulnerable but extremely resourceful recovering addict somewhere like Armadale unless you had to. Even with the best places, and John assumed the Holmeses would use the very best, there was the risk of a desperate patient getting contraband in and Sherlock succumbing to old habits.

'I still don't understand why he wanted to go there in the first place.'

'He's an intensely private man John. Lives inside his own head, perhaps he just wanted the space to deal with things in there.'

'Well I'd rather he dealt with them out here in this flat. The real world'

' You're right of course. If you need anything I will send a number you can call.'

Anything like what? I am actually a doctor Mycroft.'

'The offer is there John. Goodbye'

'Bye Mycroft.'

John immediately scooped up his keys, leaving the flat before he could change his mind.

##############

The first day or so passed in a blur of tea, bad tv and acute boredom.

The cold case John had brought him in hospital needed leg work, literally, but he was obviously in no state to do that. He could ask John but was somehow reluctant for the omega to go out working by himself. Partly it was because Sherlock was a control freak when it came to the work but mainly it was his alpha brain coming back on-line. He knew, on some level, he wanted to protect the post-heat, newly bred omega. It was distracting nonsense. John Watson, _Captain Watson_, would have laughed at the notion of needing such protection from him-and rightly so.

Lestrade came to visit on the second day and brought another couple of files. Sherlock was particularly pleased to see the yellowing pages of a genuinely old case along with the violent death Lestrade had described to him the day he broke his ankle. John would likely have told him it was inappropriate to think so, since someone had died, but there was almost a romance to really old cases.

Ignoring his guest he sat and began to read the fragile pages of the older file. What looked at first sight to be a straightforward murder of a brutish alpha by an omega at the end of their tether was complicated by an apparently airtight alibi. He was halfway through the first statement before he tuned back in to what was going on in the room, which, he suddenly realised, stank of alpha.

'What they paid for that waste of skin and he goes and does that.' John gestured toward the telly.

Lestrade and John, well-used to Sherlock's self-contained way of working, were sitting on the sofa watching football. Lestrade had brought beer, nicer than the stuff John usually bought for himself, and they were both halfway down a bottle. Every couple of minutes they would shout at something on the screen that Sherlock had no intention of taking the time to understand. In between they had a lively discussion going about the merits of various players. John, who had begged the detective to do all manner of things to him days before, was grinning and laughing with the other alpha. Lestrade looked so in control of who and what he was and Sherlock felt awkward and adolescent by comparison.

A choking jealousy rose in his chest closely followed by frustration because he knew this was hormones, his reproductive system sputtering unpredictably to life. Precisely the sort of thing he had avoided for so long, he didn't want this, didn't want the interruption to the work, to his state of mind.

He would have flounced from the room but the most his crutches would accommodate was a graceless hobble.

'You Ok?' Lestrade sounded genuinely concerned, which rather took the wind out of his sails.

'Fine, just going to lie down where it's quiet.' He made to leave but John pointedly slid his eyes in Lestrade' s direction.

'Thank you for the files.' Sherlock said, with, he thought, no less sincerity than usual.

'No problem, thought you might appreciate a historical flavour, if you get anywhere with those you'll make me a hero.' Lestrade said' half looking at the screen.

As Sherlock left the room the television erupted into cheering and John grabbed Lestrade excitedly by the arm.

Sherlock lay on his bed and half-listened until the background of cheers gave way to the drone of post match analysis and finally the front door opening as Lestrade left.

He wandered back through to the kitchen where John was now washing dishes from dinner.

'If you're looking for your pills you'll have to give it at least another hour.' John said rinsing suds from a plate.

Sherlock shifted, leaning himself against the counter next to him.

'Lestrade is very _alpha_ isn't he?' He said casually, he wasn't quite sure what he meant but it introduced the subject.

'He's decent, and a good detective by all accounts, not sure if that makes him ' very alpha'.' The response was carefully diplomatic. John glanced at him with a smile.

'Does he bother you? I mean, are you feeling really aggressive or anything? The doctor did say you might...' John's brow was furrowed and the look was too clinical for Sherlock's liking.

'It's fine, I wasn't about to attack him. I just - I'd forgotten what this was like, with both of you here.' Sherlock gazed blankly at the floor.

'It'll get better, you just need to get used to it how is, well, being around me?'

'I like it.'

John turned sharply to look at him. He hadn't meant to be so blunt. He was blushing hotly still staring at the floor, anxious at what he would see in John's face. The omega turned back to the sink, wringing out a cloth and moving to wipe down the counter.

'That's normal- it's good.' John ran the cloth across the surface in slow deliberate swipes. The possessive urge Sherlock had been containing all night suddenly broke free and he stepped closer, when John turned back round there was barely an inch of air between them. They stood for a few beats.

John was obviously fighting his own body's urge to submit, it could be read in the tilt of his face,the softening of his shoulders. Sherlock felt an (unwelcome) stab of pride because Lestrade hadn't had this effect on the omega. He wanted to touch John's hair but his balance was too off with the crutches. The omega arched expectantly.

'I'll go to bed.' Sherlock said finally. Turning awkwardly and limping away.

'You'll need to get back up for you pills.' John called after him but got no response.

################

John woke to a dull throb. The sofa was fine most of the time but it didn't always agree with his bad shoulder. He turned to pick up his phone from the floor beside him and startled at the figure perched on the the arm of the sofa until he recognised the profile.

' I didn't mean to wake you.' Sherlock said, staring ahead.

'What are you doing up?' John shuffled into a sitting position, squinting.

'Restless. A bit sore.'

'Come through, I'll make some tea. I could do with a couple of ibuprofen myself anyway.'

John picked up his phone. Three o'clock. He had to get up in three hours for a morning surgery.

The detective got to the small kitchen first and to John's surprise immediately started clumsily filling the kettle and getting mugs out of the cupboard. John got himself a glass of water and the packet of ibuprofen. He sat at the table checking that the surface was covered in nothing that could be corrosive before he rested his elbows and swallowed a couple of pills.

'I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to scare you.' Sherlock said carefully moving two steaming mugs to the table and dropping heavily into a chair.

'You didn't. If you'd scared me I'd have had you on the floor. Broken ankle or not. What was that about?' John tentatively sipped his tea. That wasn't actually quite true, he'd had a few seconds of panic when the alpha towered over him but it was as much to do with his own response as Sherlock's clumsy attempt at-_something_.

'I wanted to...Well, to scent you. It's a long time since I've done anything like that. I'm sorry.' The blush was back (the blush was lovely John had decided) and the detective focussed his eyes on the tip of one finger which circled the rim of his mug.

John tried not to imagine Sherlock scenting him, the intimacy of skin on skin, of being claimed. He attempted to think of it in medical terms. The instinctive response to invasion of perceived territory by another alpha. It didn't mean anything real.

'Thats fine, I know it's just hormones. There was someone then? Before you started with suppressant?' John had suspected as much.

'At university, I had a friend, an omega,Victor. We were both young and naive, one thing led to another. I never shared a heat with him though, never got the chance.' The detective sipped his tea pensively.

' I was staying with him during the holidays and I deduced his father. It was something I was just learning to do, for amusement, an intellectual exercise. Anyway I picked up something of his previous life, a concealed life. It was awkward, especially when a man from his past turned up. He became ill and died suddenly around the same time. Victor blamed me on some level, totally irrational of course. He moved to the far east, finished his degree there. He still stays out there, I believe he's happily bonded now.'

John felt sort of privileged to have heard the story, Sherlock gave so little of himself away normally. He had long assumed the detective had some sexual history, he was too attractive, too curious to have entirely avoided that aspect of life.

'That's when you started suppressant?' John asked, leaning forward in a fruitless attempt to catch his eye.

'No, unfortunately that's when I started cocaine. Suppressant was Mycroft's idea, much later, when he'd dragged me out of one too many bad situations. He thought it would be one less trigger for me to get high, and he was right. He pulled some strings and got me some of what they use in prisons. Terrible rough stuff it was but it at least put part of my brain at rest. So I developed my own and used it, until now.' The detective looked at him over the rim of his cup.

'Have you ever had anyone? A _special_ alpha?' Sherlock's voice dripped sarcasm (among other more appealing things) but defensive sarcasm so John let it go.

'No one long-term since before I was in the army. Most alphas don't want a bondmate that thinks for themselves let alone one that works in a war zone.'

'Most alphas are morons.' Sherlock said, getting up and stretching. 'I think I'll take my pills and go back to bed.'

'Why were you sitting next to me earlier?' John asked quickly, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it.

'I should have thought that was obvious, I was restless, I thought being closer to your scent might relax me. That is why you're in my room isn't it?' Sherlock said, tossing his head to swallow the painkillers.

'Yeah, of course, that's what I thought, just checking you weren't trying to harvest me for experiments or something.'

The detective disappeared back to the bedroom. John put the mugs in the sink and followed to find him on the sofa in his former spot.

'I hope you don't mind, I thought I might sit and think for a while.'

'I'm not a distraction then?' John smiled. 'Its fine, actually if you didn't mind we could both lie on the bed.' The detective's eyebrows shot up.

'I just meant you perched there, the sofa killing my shoulder-seems daft with all that nice high thread count going begging. I'll lie on top of the covers of course.'

Sherlock nodded, got up and flopped unceremoniously into his bed. 'Here, you'll be freezing otherwise.' He said, tossing John a soft grey blanket, which felt suspiciously like cashmere.

###############

Finished-according to the screen at least.

John stretched out his shoulders in a small celebration. Last night's interrupted sleep was taking its toll and the morning surgery had been busy. An early emergency of an elderly lady who 'didn't want to bother the doctor' with her chest pain had given way to a never-ending line of people with cystitis, flu and assorted tummy troubles. He hadn't even had a chance to think about last night, or this morning, when he'd woken up curled around a sound asleep but obviously aroused alpha.

He sighed at the tap on the door but painted on a professional smile as he called on whoever it was to come in.

'Got a minute Dr Watson?'

'Of course, as long as I won't need rubber gloves.' John smiled, relieved it was Lestrade. 'What's on your mind?'

Lestrade sat in the patients chair and looked so awkward that for a moment John thought he did have an embarrassing medical problem.

'How would you fancy a spot of moonlighting? Pays of course.'

John nodded as he started to tidy up his paperwork and shut down his computer.

'Could be interested.'

'I've gotten myself mixed up in some undercover work. You heard of Jim Graeme?'

'Some sort of property developer isn't he?'

'Some sort is right. We know he's into drugs but nothing we can use in court. Now we think he's involved in omega smuggling as well- actually I'm certain of it. You remember that boy a couple of months ago killed by his mate in a stupid fight?'

John nodded. He remembered it well, Sherlock's services hadn't been needed but it had been in all the papers for days.

'Graeme comes from that area, funds a lot of community stuff there. So after that he sent me an invitation to some reception at a new building of his. Big press launch all about how he's helping 'build for the future'. I'm just about to put it in the bin but decide at the last minute to let internal affairs know, given his background. So I fire off an email and half an hour later I'm summoned to a meeting.' Greg paused to check John was still following.

'See,they know he has cops that he's paying off, they just don't know who. Turns out they'd been waiting on somebody to get approached for ages. Someone who went to them with it anyway. They ask if I mind playing along for a bit, seeing what I can find out.'

'Why you though?' John said sitting back in his chair.

' Basically because I've been passed over for promotion, I'm within a few years of retirement and -since the divorce- I'm pretty much broke. I'm a textbook target.' Greg grimaced, running his hand through his hair.

'Where do I come in?' John ignored his friend's obvious embarrassment.

'That's where it's a bit awkward. I need you to pretend to be my fiance. There's no male omegas in my division that we can be certain he's not seen. I could get an officer from another area but I'd rather have someone I know, who I'm confident can handle themselves If it gets rough. Not that it's likely to but you never know.'

'I can see myself doing that.' John said, he loved that his job allowed him to help people but he couldn't deny that in civilian life he sometimes longed for a little more excitement. Generally he got that from Sherlock but a little more couldn't hurt. John tried not to look too keen.

'How do you come to need a fiance?'

'At the weekend he took me to this nightclub he has a share in. Flash place, made me feel about a hundred but anyway, it was going well. He was a bit pissed and he was moving in the direction of making me a serious offer, you know, cash. Suddenly he decides he wants to take me through the back. Says he's got a surprise for me. So I'm thinking the worst. We go through to this room, just as flash as the rest of the place but with a naked girl lying on a bed. John, you should have seen her. Her eyes were so - _gone_ - and she had this blotchy flush everywhere.'

'Forced heat.'John said quietly.

'I mean I obviously wouldn't but - I couldn't think straight'

' Chemically forced heats often produce much higher levels of the hormones...' John started in his best patient GP tone.

I know all that.' The alpha cut him off and waved his hand dismissively, end of discussion.

'Anyway that's why I needed a fiance quick. It was an excuse not to touch the girl. I thought if I said I had a male omega it would be more convincing. I was on the spot, it was the best I could come up with.'

'OK.' John thoughtfully chewed his lip. 'I'm interested, what would I have to do?'

'Appreciate it John. Won't Sherlock mind though?'

'Do you see a bond bite?' John tilted his neck to emphasise the point. 'Its up to me. Though I will talk to him obviously. So?'

Greg nodded. 'Can you come with me to the nightclub on Thursday? Shouldn't be too dodgy. You might be able to help, see if any of the omegas around know anything about the trafficking.'

'OK, what if I come to your office tomorrow, you can give me a bit more detail?'

'Yeah- actually no, best you stay away from the yard, just in case your seen. That little pub along from you, six tomorrow?'

'OK, see you then.'

The detective left and John realised he had one more to add to his list of awkward Sherlock conversations.


End file.
